


These Hands

by jayjaybee



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 10:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7842247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayjaybee/pseuds/jayjaybee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serena's hands are surgeon's hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Hands

These hands, these hands are surgeon’s hands. 

These hands are highly-trained, delicately-honed instinct. These hands transform thought into action, even before thought has been fully formed. These hands anticipate more than they react, and yet when they are forced to react they do so with precision, and care, and sensitivity. 

These hands move with deliberation and with accuracy, with ease and with elegance. 

These hands provoke response. These hands control reaction. 

These hands know how to apply pressure and how to release pressure. These hands know how to direct, how to prompt, how to provoke, and how to enable. 

These hands are cautious. 

These hands are adventurous. 

When these hands move quickly they are not hurried. They act with purpose. 

They are firm. They are gentle. They are sensitive. They are strong.

They are attuned to the slightest change in response, and they know how to move, or not to move, how to pause, how to wait, and then, and then, when to act, and how to act. 

They are steady. They are certain. They do not doubt. 

These hands are surgeon’s hands. 

And yet, as lover’s hands, these hands have become something else entirely. They are tentative; they are clumsy and awkward. Their touch is nervous and uncertain. They do not answer thought. They are slow. They quake. They quake!

(Bernie can feel her tension. ‘It’s ok, Serena,’ she says. ‘It’s ok. Do you want this?’ 

And right at this moment Serena has never wanted anything more. 

‘Relax, sweetheart,’ Bernie says, her mouth warm on Serena’s ear, her voice gentle. ‘It’s ok,’ she says, and as her lips trace a line down the sensitive skin of Serena’s throat, Serena loses herself in the sensation, and she trusts to her hands. And these hands, these delicate instruments, these hands do not let her down.)

These hands, these hands are precision and they are instinct, they are nimble and deft. 

These hands discover how to move, how to repeat, how to vary. 

These hands learn quickly.

The sweep of a palm. The scrape of a nail. The bend and flex of a thumb. The twitch and curve of a finger. The pressure of a knuckle. The flick of a wrist. 

These hands find patterns, and rhythms, and motion and movement. 

These hands are sure. They are supple. They are subtle. 

These hands are thought made action; these hands are thought made effect. 

These hands have achieved some astonishing things in their time, but nothing so astonishing as what they are doing now, as Bernie unfolds herself and gives herself over to them, as Bernie trembles and shivers, as Bernie arches and bucks, as Bernie calls her name, as Bernie comes, as Bernie comes, these hands have never done anything quite as astonishing as this. 

These hands have found their purpose. 

These hands, these hands are lover’s hands.


End file.
